


Two Saints Meet

by Savageandwise



Series: Drabbles: We Will Never Be Here Again [2]
Category: The Beatles
Genre: 1968, Angst, M/M, McLennon, Work of fiction, justify - Freeform, not my take on reality, two virgins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-14 20:00:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14776310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savageandwise/pseuds/Savageandwise
Summary: May 1968 after John and Yoko recorded 'Two Virgins'.‘Do you hate me?’ John asked repeatedly. ‘I’m crazy, you know.’‘No, I don’t hate you.’ McCartney spoke with his face partly averted from Lennon’s rapt gaze.‘Aren’t you pissed at me now, Paul? Not even a little bit?’‘I’m very proud of you.’John eased off. ‘Maybe I won’t split.'- McCartney, by Christopher SandfordWhat happened after that? Read between the lines.





	Two Saints Meet

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was 'justify'  
> Another drabble for the collection. Based on a quote from Christopher Sandford's book.

_“Do you hate me?”_

Paul clamped his hand hard around John's wrist. His eyebrows shot up dramatically, eyes wide and glazed with alarm behind circular frames.

_“Do you hate me?”_

Paul dragged him into a closed space and shut the door. They were in the dark somewhere that reeked of dust, bleach and missed opportunities.

“You _are_ angry,” John whispered. “You are, admit it.”

He didn't answer. He put his hands to either side of John's face. Paul's eyes flashed with fear or sadness but not anger.

_“Do you hate me?”_

John raised his hand awkwardly, pawing blindly until he felt the curve of Paul's cheek, the ridge of his cheekbone, his damp beard. Paul was crying.

“You split too. So far away I needed a telescope to see you.” 

Paul hands slid down over John's shoulders, flexing his fingers so hard it hurt. He didn't pull away.

_“I’m crazy, you know.”_

He could feel Paul's heart hammering. The wet sound of his weeping tied knots in John's stomach.

“I don't have to explain myself. I don't need to justify a thing.”

_“No, I don’t hate you.”_

John pressed his mouth to Paul's and tasted his tears. It was funny how a kiss could still blot out the rest of the world, turn back time, fill his veins with narcotic joy better than a hit of heroin.

_“Aren’t you pissed at me now, Paul? Not even a little bit?”_

They trembled against each other, lips brushing, breaths mingling.

_“I’m very proud of you.”_

John let out a short bitter laugh. A decade had passed and they were still in the closet. Paul seemed to read his mind, his mouth curling upwards, his chest heaving with suppressed laughter. Or maybe he was grimacing and sobbing. Or both.

_“Maybe I won’t split.”_


End file.
